


We Gave It All To The Fire

by Barkour



Category: Tiger & Bunny
Genre: Alcohol, Cancer, Episode Related, Fire, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-31 03:26:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barkour/pseuds/Barkour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Barnaby has after the fire is himself. Missing scene fic for episode nine, "Spare the Rod and Spoil the Child," or: what Barnaby and Kotetsu did when they drank.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Gave It All To The Fire

**Author's Note:**

> As I've only seen up to episode ten of _Tiger & Bunny_ at the time of this writing, some things may not be quite accurate in this fic.

In the space between each of his eyelashes, fire remained; smoke lingered beneath his eyelids. Through that haze, what might he see? Only a child's Jack o' lantern, a shadow puppet cast against a burning wall, a pillar of ash with a sparking Glasgow smile. The weight of twenty years cracked in his bones.

Kotetsu spoke. His voice was low, hoarse, soft too. The champagne glass rolled between his fingers; the champagne was gold then honey in the thin light of the flat screen and twenty years hunting soot and a memory.

"I can understand your frustration, but you need to relax."

Barnaby's hand tightened. How could he relax, with his mother, his father still dying before him? His father's arm arched so gracefully in the consuming blaze, the shape of his elbow, his long forearm the neck of a swan bending to drink even as the skin blistered and began to char. 

The chair creaked. That bandaged shoulder tensed then eased, and over the white expanse of it, Kotetsu looked at Barnaby. His eyes were gentle; with the glow of the TV washing over his face, his eyes were more gold than brown. Kotetsu's fingers cupped his knee, his knuckles stiff. Something small and cruel split open in Barnaby's gut. It was pain that made Kotetsu hold his hand like that.

"It's not something you can remember just because you want to remember it." 

Kotetsu turned his face up to the screen. All the data Barnaby had collected, all the trials he'd followed, the walls he'd hit, showed spread out before him; it echoed in Kotetsu's face. The thing in Barnaby's stomach twisted. All his failures sat silent on the screen, but it was the angle of Kotetsu's jaw, softened by his beard, that arrested Barnaby.

Kotetsu smiled at the screen, just a little smile. The corner of his mouth folded up. His cheek creased. A slim shadow ate at his throat, and the cobweb of lines around his eyes ran like ink.

"It'll be all right," he said. "You'll find him."

The bend of his spine was rough, his shoulder a knot. His thumb crooked over his knee; the knuckle paled. He was smiling still. Now as his eyelids swept low, that tangle of lines easing, the shape of his mouth softened, too. Kotetsu breathed out; his shoulder bent.

Had Barnaby ever in his life wanted so to touch another? 

The weight in his gut pulled at his chest. He had touched Kotetsu's shoulder that other night, not much of a touch. Only his fingertips whispering down the slope of Kotetsu's clavicle. He'd thought, with the way Kotetsu fell, how he landed, the brutal curve of his back, that Kotetsu had-- That Lunatic had-- In his throat he'd tasted soot.

Kotetsu sighed. He settled in Barnaby's chair. His hand fluttered against his breast. The thick musculature of his abdomen tightened. Pain, again.

The carpet swallowed the sound of Barnaby's feet, moving. Two steps, three steps. Four. He caught the champagne bottle by the throat. Kotetsu had left the cork on the table. The corkscrew wobbled, its spiraled tooth gleaming. Kotetsu shifted, turning in the chair. Turning in Barnaby's chair. Barnaby frowned at the champagne glass then he slung a look under his lashes at Kotetsu.

"You really shouldn't help yourself to my things," said Barnaby.

Kotetsu scratched at his beard and grinned, that sheepish _who me? what did I do?_ grin that came out when the damage reports did.

"Ah, say, Bunny," he said, "you wouldn't deny an old man his one pleasure, would you?"

"What pleasure would that be?" Barnaby took Kotetsu's glass. The champagne swirled, spitting bubbles as it rolled within the bell. "An excess of alcohol slows your reflexes, hastens brain damage, and encourages unsightly behavior."

"Fine, fine." Kotetsu stuck his lips out at the screen. His nose wrinkled. "It's your wine, though."

"The chair is mine, too," said Barnaby. He set the mouth of the bottle to the lip of the glass and measured out a third of champagne. "You haven't forgotten this is my house, have you, old man?"

"Are you sure you live here?" Kotetsu craned his head back. He squinted at the ceiling as though he expected the rafters, and the heavens, to part.

"Yes," said Barnaby. He touched the cool glass to Kotetsu's cheek. "Here."

Kotetsu's hand came up; his fingers slid around the bell, his thumb brushing the base of Barnaby's palm. A line of goosebumps slithered up Barnaby's arm. Kotetsu made a surprised sound, surprised at the glass and not the way Barnaby's toes curled in the carpet. Barnaby left the glass to Kotetsu.

"I wouldn't deny an old man his one pleasure," he said. 

He busied his hands with another glass. The bottle of champagne was heavy; it pulled at his wrist. The chair sighed. Kotetsu had leaned back again. Perhaps it was only Barnaby's imagination, that he felt the weight and the warmth of Kotetsu's gaze roosting in the small of his back. 

Champagne licked Barnaby's thumb. He set the bottle down. The rim of the glass shone wetly, the champagne shivering, surface tension alone holding it in the long and narrow bell. Barnaby bent to siphon it with his mouth.

"Hey, Barnaby," said Kotetsu, "you know, I heard from a little rabbit that alcohol dulls the reflexes. Makes you stupid."

"A glass of wine a night improves cardiac health," said Barnaby mildly in return. He straightened. "I have no intention of drinking to excess."

Kotetsu tapped his finger against his left breast. He hadn't a farmer's tan; the tone of his skin was even across his arms and his chest alike. Barnaby knew his own arms were a shade pinker than his belly.

"My heart's doing okay," said Kotetsu. "You don't have to worry about me, Bunny."

He smiled again at Barnaby. That mess of lines folded, soft around his mouth, softer at his eyes.

Barnaby fiddled with his glass. Bubbles popped in the glass, given up to the air; more rose. Silence pricked at him. It was hard to know what to think or to say, harder still to know what he thought, what he wanted to say. The quiet heft of Kotetsu's breath, so near, suffocated him. 

"Hey," said Kotetsu. He held his glass up to Barnaby. His fingers, dark and rough, pinched the stem. 

They clinked their glasses together. Kotetsu's smile deepened. Barnaby's hands itched. Looking away, looking to J. G. Benjamin's gaunt and empty face, Barnaby drank.

And strong, he thought. Kotetsu's hands were strong, too. His palm had rasped across the back of Barnaby's hand, calluses scraping his skin. He'd held Barnaby's hand there on his shoulder, pressed his palm flat against the joint. His shoulder had been hot, warm even through his shirt. The itching in Barnaby's fingers redoubled.

If he touched Kotetsu's shoulder now. If he touched his shoulder now, would Kotetsu wrap his hand around Barnaby's? The thing that had gutted itself in Barnaby: it drowned.

J. G. Benjamin stared down at Barnaby. His eyes were huge and dark and loose, his mouth slack, his fingers gnarled.

In the fire, Barnaby's mother screamed.

"Oi, Bunny," said Kotetsu. He tipped his head. His mouth, pursed, dragged down. Worry, Barnaby thought. That was worry knotting his face. "I thought you weren't going to drink too much."

Barnaby lowered the glass. It was empty but for a tongue's touch of champagne shimmering faintly at the very bottom. He stroked the bell with his thumb. The glass was warm only from his hand. The small of his back pinched. Kotetsu watched him. He watched Barnaby.

"Your wife," said Barnaby. 

The words dropped like stones. He would not look at Kotetsu. His own face reflected in the glass, a remote collection of angles and lines and thin planes assembled in the shape of a person.

"Tomoe," said Kotetsu. 

Barnaby looked then. He did not mean to look, but he did. Kotetsu tipped his glass back. His throat worked, Adam's apple bobbing once, twice, thrice. When he lowered his glass, Barnaby took it from his lax hand.

The champagne burbled. Barnaby watched Kotetsu through the filling glass. The pressure of Kotetsu's mouth, the line of his shoulders, the shape his eyes took, Barnaby had not seen before. The room was thick with it. Ghosts pressed against Barnaby. He only knew some of their names.

"It was a fire," Barnaby said. He gave Kotetsu the glass then set to refilling his own. His hands were steady. "I heard a shot. I went down the hall. It was Christmas, but the house was hot."

"Barnaby," said Kotetsu.

He set the bottle down. His glass, he kept. He studied the bubbles as they birthed and they rose and they died, and in them he saw glass balls on the Christmas tree. Red ones, blue ones, a gold one with silver glitter his mother helped him hang on the highest branch.

"I heard another shot," he said. His voice was cold. He was always cold, even when he tasted the fire on his teeth. "I opened the doors. The room was burning. He'd set a fire first. Then he shot my mother. Then he shot my father. I watched them die. I can't remember his face, but I remember his hands."

He drank. The champagne was sour; his tongue curled with it. He lowered the glass. J. G. Benjamin waited.

"She had gastric cancer," said Kotetsu.

Barnaby started.

Kotetsu cradled his glass between both his hands, gently, very gently.

"We thought they were ulcers at first. It wasn't easy for Tomoe. I didn't make it easy for her. She had to take care of Kaede, the house, my mother while I was fighting. She was a teacher," he said, brightening.

"Ah," said Barnaby. 

Kotetsu smiled and bent his head, looking to his knees. Another expression Barnaby didn't know. 

"She was scary, too," he said. "You would've thought, eh, nothing could ever touch Tomoe!"

His thumb traced the glass. Barnaby wanted, very deeply, to touch Kotetsu's wrist and still that thumb.

"It was stage four," said Kotetsu. The laugh had gone out. "By the time we found it, it had spread to her intestines. Her liver. Gallbladder."

I heard a shot, Barnaby thought. I went down the hall. It was Christmas.

Kotetsu drained his glass and made a face. He set the glass down carefully on the table, but he lingered, holding it still.

"This is going to sound stupid," he said. "But. I used to think it was my fault. If I could have figured out a way to give her my Next. Maybe she could have fought it."

His father's arm arced. His mother screamed. Birthed out of the flames, the thing with the Glasgow smile laughed.

I could have saved them, Barnaby thought.

"Enough of this light crap," said Kotetsu. "How's your constitution for vodka? Scotch?"

Barnaby set his glass down beside Kotetsu's. The rim of Kotetsu's glass was still wet from his mouth. Barnaby rolled his tongue.

"I've never liked champagne," he said.

Kotetsu stood with a groan, stretching his good arm out and keeping the other close. His chest swelled. He rubbed at his belly, and Barnaby looked away.

"Why didn't you say so? I'll get the shot glasses."

"Second cabinet on the left," said Barnaby. He watched Kotetsu's toes curl and uncurl. "Please be careful."

Kotetsu snorted. "How drunk do you think I am?"

Barnaby let it lie. 

_I heard a shot. I went down the hall._ Liver. Gallbladder.

J. G. Benjamin's eyes were black moons. The shape of his face was a skull, bared, life and mind and heart gone out. "Ouroboros," he'd slurred. Ouroboros. The serpent that eats its tail. The dead reborn. The living, dead.

Barnaby picked up the remote, aimed it, and killed the screen. Darkness swallowed J. G. Benjamin.

Kotetsu returned, shot glasses capping a finger each. He spun them round his fingers as he walked, then he turned them down on the table. Kotetsu reached for the bottle of vodka.

"Have you ever actually tried hard liquor?"

"I went to school," said Barnaby.

"That's not a real answer."

Kotetsu poured out two shots. He hadn't looked at Barnaby once since standing. 

What distance stretched between them? If Barnaby stretched out his hands, he could set them one to Kotetsu's right shoulder, one to Kotetsu's left. Kotetsu's skin would be warm and smooth, the muscle strong beneath, and he would lift his head, and his eyes would be warm, too, and bright as well.

Barnaby took the shot glass and downed the vodka too quickly. He choked. Heat erupted in his mouth. Barnaby clapped a hand to his throat and swallowed.

A hand, on his back. He glanced up, and Kotetsu was there, laughter wrinkling his eyes.

"You okay there, Bunny?"

"Yes," Barnaby rasped. He swallowed again.

Kotetsu saluted him with his own glass. "Well, cheers."

The slide of Kotetsu's throat was--subtle. Delicate. In the dark of his apartment, it was easy for Barnaby to follow the course of Kotetsu's jaw, how his chin hooked with his neck. It was easier still to turn away.

"Damn," said Kotetsu, surprised. "This is good stuff. How come you've never opened any of this?"

"A hero must be alert at all times," said Barnaby primly. "Your glass, please."

He poured them each another shot.

"Here's to Sam," said Kotetsu, offering his glass. "May he sleep through the night, amen."

They knocked glasses. The vodka did not scour his mouth so fiercely the second time; it burned even less the third.

"To our sponsors," said Barnaby. His tongue got hung up on the last sibilant, and Kotetsu, ever petty, sniggered. 

"To heartless capitalism."

"To Agnes."

Barnaby's legs folded. He squatted, then sat, and took the bottle with him.

"To Nathan!" said Kotetsu. "And Antonio. And Keith."

"To technological innovation."

"To, uh, damn," said Kotetsu. "Shit. To Doctor Saito. May he serenade _your_ ass in the oxygen tank next time."

"Don't swear," said Barnaby, scandalized. "There's a baby in the other room."

"To Sam!" declared Kotetsu.

"You already did that."

"Oh," said Kotetsu. He'd downed his shot. "Well, to your perfect ass, then."

Barnaby rolled his eyes, but he poured Kotetsu another glass. Kotetsu held the glass pinched between two fingers, his other hand cupped around the side. He was smiling again. When had he stopped frowning around Barnaby?

"To my perfect ass," said Barnaby.

"It sounds different coming from you," said Kotetsu. "More braggish."

"To you," said Barnaby politely.

"Thank you," said Kotetsu.

His stomach was warm. His face was warm. His head was full of air and stars. Barnaby shook the bottle.

"The vodka's out," he said.

"Damn," said Kotetsu. "Where's the beer?"

Barnaby laid down. He must have, for when he opened his eyes the ceiling was there. His scalp itched. His fingers, too.

"Hey, hey," said Kotetsu, sing-song. "Bunny. Bunnnny. I've got your beer. All good rabbits need beer."

Kotetsu leaned over him. Kotetsu was warm, too. He pressed a beer can to Barnaby's face and Barnaby leaned away.

"Stop," he said.

Kotetsu laughed. His lips shone. His eyes were brown crescents.

"What? Don't you want it?" The can pressed cold and wet to Barnaby's cheek, and he pulled away again. "Hey, little bunny--"

"Old man," said Barnaby, and he touched Kotetsu's face.

He meant to push him away. That was what he meant to do. He'd shove him off and Kotetsu would fall back, still laughing. 

Kotetsu's jaw was very firm. Very solid. His beard scratched Barnaby's thumb. Air and stars. He tasted snow in his mouth and smoke not at all. Dreamily, Barnaby traced the line of Kotetsu's chin, shaved clean. Small bristles rasped.

Kotetsu set his hand on Barnaby's shoulder. He couldn't see the ceiling anymore, because Kotetsu filled the room; he blocked everything. His face was thick with shadows.

"Hey, bunny," said Kotetsu.

Barnaby touched the small swell of Kotetsu's mouth, the little curve of his lower lip. Something hot uncurled in Barnaby's chest, and it didn't feel like fire at all.

Where was Kotetsu's hand? On his arm. On Barnaby's arm. Fingers spreading wide. Thumb a hook digging into his biceps. It wasn't only Barnaby's hands that itched, but all of him, all of him. He didn't know. He didn't know. What did he want? No one had touched him like this. Fingers on his arm. Kotetsu's wrist at his elbow.

Barnaby's fingertips were pale on Kotetsu's lip. His thumb moved, like a thing apart, to trace the crease of Kotetsu's mouth. Kotetsu's lips parted.

What did he want?

Kotetsu's eyelids fluttered. He breathed out, and his breath was hot, too, and sour with vodka and champagne and the first sip of beer. Barnaby wanted to lick the breath out of him. 

Kotetsu touched Barnaby's wrist. The string of beads wound about Kotetsu's arm pressed into Barnaby's palm.

"Bunny," said Kotetsu. 

Barnaby closed his eyes. Kotetsu played against his eyelids, a shadow, ephemeral. Like bubbles in a glass.

"Barnaby."

His skin crawled. His shirt was too tight. His belt bit into his waist. He was flaking; he blistered. Barnaby was burning up.

In the embers, his mother turned.

Barnaby opened his eyes.

"Old man," he said.

Kotetsu's hand stilled. The fingers on Barnaby's wrist trembled, then they, too, were still.

Barnaby licked his teeth. His jaw ached with it. He focused on Kotetsu's ear, the whorls, the shell, the slight crook of it near the top.

"I need to go to the bathroom," he said, and he pushed Kotetsu away. 

Barnaby sat up and stumbled onto his knees. His fingers trailed across the floor. Where were his feet? He got them under him and rose. He didn't look back. He couldn't look back. His neck would not move. He would not allow it to.

The bathroom light flicked on. Barnaby closed the door. He pushed in the lock.

In the mirror, his mother. The lines of his own face were foreign to him. Nameless, unnameable want welled inside him. What was it? What did he want?

He heard a shot. He went down the hall. A man with a face of fire turned to him and smiled, and in his hand the man with the face of fire held the gun he had used to kill Barnaby's mother and Barnaby's father.

"This is going to sound stupid," Kotetsu had said.

Maverick had raised an umbrella in the rain and set his hand between Barnaby's shoulders.

Barnaby turned the faucet on. Cold water gushed into the sink. He ran his wrists under it, like--like his mother had done. _To bring your fever down._ He was afraid to look in the mirror again. 

When he did, no one was there but Barnaby. No one else was ever there.

"You're not alone anymore," Maverick had said gently as the rain came down.

It was alcohol that made Barnaby's chest hurt. It was just that. He took a breath. He let it out. He turned off the water and he dried his hands on the towel by the sink. Then he went out. The light turned off behind him.

Kotetsu was standing by the table, beer can in one hand, wine bottle in the other. The corded, bare length of his back bent before Barnaby. His head was bowed, his nape exposed, black hair brushed to one side. His lip had been dry under Barnaby's fingers, but his mouth had been wet against the very tip of Barnaby's second finger.

"How's your shoulder?"

Kotetsu straightened. He didn't turn. The hand clasping the beer can tightened, then his shoulder arched and he smiled over it.

"I told you. I'm fine. My endurance is top notch. Remember?"

"I remember," said Barnaby.

He crossed the floor to Kotetsu. It wasn't hard at all. He put one foot in front of the other, and when he'd got to Kotetsu, instead of touching Kotetsu's arm, he took the beer from his hand.

"Hey!" said Kotetsu. "That's mine."

"Technically," said Barnaby, "it's all mine."

"Stingy," said Kotetsu. He took another from the pack. Barnaby let him. It didn't matter. It was only a beer.

They didn't talk much after that, not of their ghosts or of each other. Shortly after that, they slept. Kotetsu there. Barnaby _there_. It was easier like that. At night when Barnaby woke, he could look up at the ceiling and pretend he was alone. He believed it, too. He wanted it. He didn't mind at all. He only listened to Kotetsu's snoring for a little while. 

When he slept again, he dreamed of snow and warm hands and someone laughing near to him in a way that made him want to laugh, too. He just smiled instead. That was enough.


End file.
